Bless the Broken Road
by falconfile
Summary: On the way back to Imladris Elladan and Elrohir came across someone unexpected and a newcomer is hardly welcome on the eve of the War of the Ring.
1. Prologue

Prologue

'Elladan! Slow down!' called out Elrohir.

Elladan brought his horse to a stop and turned around the best he could without lifting himself out of the saddle. He saw that Elrohir has stopped about fifty paces back and had climbed off his gelding. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, Elrohir moved slowly between the few spindly trees that grew in this region of Middle-Earth. Elladan sighed and directed his horse back along the track.

'What have you found?' he asked softly.

'It's a human,' replied Elrohir, 'I think.'

Elladan looked about them and listened out for evidence of an ambush. Branches creaked where they rubbed against each other and dry leaves picked up by the wind formed a constant rumble in the background. Somewhere west of them Elladan could hear two different woodpeckers. Further along the track, a fox was digging a hole beneath exposed tree roots. But there was no indication of humans in the area, hostile or friendly. They had passed the last human village in the area three nights ago. However, Elladan was still wary; his heart beat at as furious pace as Elrohir crept closer to the still figure.

'She is alive,' said Elrohir, but Elladan was intrigued by the hint of confusion in Elrohir's tone. 'Come here, 'Dan.'

Elladan climbed off his horse and followed Elrohir; he trusted the horses not to wonder far from their riders. Soon he could see her clearly. A young woman, taller than most humans and well fed, which led Elladan to think that she came from a wealthy family. However, he was puzzled about her dress, if it could be called that. As she lay there, the short skirt allowed her legs to be indecently exposed and the upper part of the dress was barely better. It was no wonder that the youth's lips were blue from the cold. On the other hand, the lack of appropriate clothing for the weather let Elladan to see immediately the many lacerations on her body and the severe swelling on her left hand, a bad fracture by the looks of it.

'She looks like she's been left here as wolf bait,' said Elrohir. 'Except, have you noticed? There are no tracks leading here, not even hers.'

'With the shoes she is wearing, we should not be looking for tracks as much as potholes. I will never understand human ideas about clothing.'

Elrohir laughed weakly and knelt down by the youth. As he lifted to her head, they saw a streak of dried blood coming from below the hairline. Elrohir gently pressed his fingers around the wound as their father had taught them.

'That explains why she is unconscious, but I doubt there is long term damage from this wound.' he said after a moment. 'Are you going to help me or are you going to watch me do all the work as always?'

'And are you too weak to lift a woman on your own?' said Elladan. Elrohir shook his head and muttered something Elladan did not care to hear. 'In any case, Elrohir, abandon this folly now. We are in a hurry.'

'She will die out here.'

'She might die in Imladris also. For all you know, humans might have brought here out here for a reason – her manner of dress suggests she has been involved in some sort impropriety. Moreover, you seem to have forgotten that you are carrying information vital to the future of Middle-Earth. She will only delay us when we have no time to waste.'

'Whatever her past, no one should end their life like this. You go ahead with the message, I will follow you as I can,' replied Elrohir.

'I will not leave you alone with a half-dead human! What are you going do to if you are attacked?'

'I have two arms, do I not?' said Elrohir.

Elladan clenched his teeth as he watched Elrohir pick up the woman. He carried her much like one would carry a child. Elrohir gave his brother a cold look as he passed him, one Elladan recognised well. This particular expression, apart from making Elrohir resemble his father all the more, meant that Elrohir had set a course for himself and only Elrond or Erestor had the power to change Elrohir' mind. Elladan had to wonder why he had been 'blessed' with a brother who thought that the plight of every being in this world was his to solve.

'Fine, Elrohir, but if father is furious, you will take the full share of the blame,' said Elladan.

Elrohir flicked a stray strand of hair out of his face and spoke:

'I knew you wouldn't leave me.'

'Yes, evidently, our mother has lectured me about looking after my younger siblings one time too many,' said Elladan dryly.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Sophie dropped her foils and mask on the floor, but her attention was on the noticeboard before her. She quickly skimmed through the men's results, and then found the two sheets of paper with the tableau for the women's' competition. The managing committee was behind schedule so there were no results for bouts in the top sixteen. Sophie had fill out the gaps from her memory and general knowledge about how other competitors tended to perform. After a minute of contemplation, she had worked out who her next opponent would be. _Adelaide_.

'Congratulations, Sophie. You fenced very well that last bout,' came a voice just as someone patted her on the shoulder.

Sophie turned around and smiled. She recognised that this man was a parent of one of the boys from her club, but she had no idea whose parent this was, let alone what the man's name might be.

'Thank-you, but excuse me, I have to refill my water bottle,' she muttered, picking up her gear off the floor.

The bubbler was in an out-of-the-way corner of the corridor, where the clanking of blades and referee's directions were fainter. Sophie liked to wander over here during her breaks because few people dallied long, she could relax in peace. However, today it was not to be. Just as she turned the corner, she saw a tall girl bent over the bubbler. A moment later Adelaide straightened and wiped remnants of water from her lips with the back of her hand. There was no avoiding one other.

'How are you?' said Sophie.

'The knees are not doing well,' said Adelaide flatly.

Sophie half wondered if Adelaide was lying just to give Sophie a measure of false confidence for their bout ahead. Adelaide was seeded fourth after the first round of competition and Sophie had come out first, a direct reversal of their usual results. It would be fair for Adelaide to think that Sophie would be feeling cocky and to try to use it.

'Well, I hope it doesn't end up being a serious problem,' replied Sophie.

Sophie sighed as the call for the next round of bouts rung out over speakers strategically placed all over the sports complex. She rushed to fill up her water bottle while Adelaide stalked off without looking at Sophie. They fenced at the same club and at practice they were usually friendly to one other, but the strain of competition ripped through all veil of familiarity. Sophie headed back towards the hall once Adelaide vanished from her sight.

* * *

In Olympic fencing, the later rounds of competitions are fenced to fifteen hits over nine minutes with one-minute breaks after the third and the sixth minute. That one-minute pause was not a lot of time. You got a drink, advice from your coach and the time is nearly up.

'Stay calm, you have six more minutes. That is plenty of time, and you only have to be ahead by one point to win,' said Kaleb, who even at fourteen made a capable substitute for a coach at times like this.

Sophie nodded and put down her water bottle by the side of the strip. Kaleb was quite right; the score was only six to nine. It was not hopeless. She picked up her mask and walked back towards the centre of the strip. Sophie's stomach protested and her throat was dry, she knew that her ragged breaths were not merely the physical strain of the sport. Fear clung to Sophie's every thought.

'On guard please,' said the referee. 'Are you ready? Fence!'

Seconds began to tickle down while Adelaide and Sophie played with distance. Adelaide was half a foot taller than Sophie was, so her reach was longer, Sophie had to stay out of her lunging range. However, if Sophie wanted to attack she had to take the risk and come closer herself. And Adelaide was ahead, she had little reason to attack.

Sophie took a slow step forward. There was no reaction so she took another step and adjusted to point the tip of her blade towards Adelaide's torso, the valid target in foil fencing. Adelaide was slow to respond and Sophie already lunged when she finally parried. She ended up doing an awkward disengage to avoid Adelaide's parry, but was caught. Faster than the mind could react, months of drills took over, Adelaide riposted and Sophie parried. Sophie's counter-riposte found target. As the scoring machine beeped to alert the referee to the hit Sophie's every muscle slackened as a wave of relief washed over her.

She returned to the on guard line with the vague plan of 'do it again' clear in her mind. Somewhere around her people were cheering or shouting out advice, Sophie did not pay attention to them. For the next two minutes she struggled to catch up to Adelaide, they pushed the score to twelve - thirteen, but Adelaide was still ahead.

'One minute break,' said the referee.

Adelaide and Sophie walked to their ends of the fencing strip in silence. Kaleb was ready there holding a bottle of water for Sophie. He spoke softly so that none of the spectators or Adelaide would hear:

'I think you have her, just angulate your wrist. That is why you missed those last two envelopments. Come on, Soph, you can do it.'

'Thanks. All right, er, yeah,' muttered Sophie grasping for suitable words, then sighed. 'Let's get this finished.'

Sophie returned to the start line and readied herself for the last three minutes of the bout. Her mask halfway on her head, Sophie's eyes met Adelaide's. Blue peered into grey. Sophie paused on the drop of sweat drifting down from below Adelaide's pale hair and the red cheeks that made her look like she had just weathered a snowstorm. Adelaide was the first to look away, a sign that Sophie found encouraging.

The referee called for them to start fencing and Adelaide rushed forward with unusual boldness. Sophie retreated, but there was no follow up. Adelaide contended herself to a comfortable distance from the end of Sophie's foil. Seconds ticked down on the scoring box. Sophie was preoccupied with the way Adelaide held her weapon. _Was she tired? Was she purposefully letting her arm drift to lure her opponent in?_ Sophie felt familiar bile rise in her throat.

'She'll expect a disengage,' Sophie told herself.

After a few careful steps forward, Sophie feinted into the area Adelaide had left exposed. Almost at once, she brought the foil back, over Adelaide's blade and back down on the other side of the blade. She lunged to finish. The referee called halt just as Adelaide finished her parry. Thirteen each, two more hits to victory. This would be easy now, Adelaide's parry was so slow she would not have stopped an eighty-year-old veteran with a heart condition; she had to be tired.

Sophie did not dare to let Adelaide take the opportunity to make her own mistakes, not so close to the end of the bout. She went for another attack. Clang. The blades moaned as they slid against another. Before Sophie knew her mistake, she found Adelaide's foil planted firmly in her stomach. Fourteen to thirteen.

'Shit! How fucking stupid could you get?' muttered Sophie as she returned to the on guard line.

She whacked her blade against her thigh. To attack blindly like that was the stupidest thing she could have done and now she had no second chance if she made another mistake. _Fourteen to thirteen._ Adelaide was ready to begin again. _Was she pretending to be exhausted before? _

Sophie continued an internal dialogue of swearing as the referee called for them to resume fencing. What earlier plans she had now dissipated, her mind continued to play the previous hit over and over again. Adelaide crept forward while Sophie continued edging back, uncertain what to try now. This hit had to be perfect.

Adelaide moved forward again, slightly twirling at her blade. Then she shot out like at the beginning of a sprint. Caught at unawares Sophie half crouched down and stuck out her arm, praying that Adelaide would miss. Then Sophie felt it. The small metal tip pressing into her shoulder. Adelaide screamed while Sophie fought the urge to collapse on the ground.

Sophie took off her mask and suddenly became aware of the size of the crowd that had gathered to watch the bout. _Public humiliation, even better_. She took Adelaide's extended hand and tried to offer a smile. In other times Sophie would have thanked her for the bout too, today she did not have the self-possession to do so without sounding as if she was about to cry.

* * *

Sophie turned around when she heard the front door slam. Since her flatmate, Sam, was the only one who abused the door in this manner, she was not surprised to see Sam step into the kitchen with plastic bags full of groceries in her hands.

'How was it?' asked Sam.

'I called the coach and told him I was quitting fencing,' replied Sophie between sips of her tea. Sam frowned:

'Did you come last or something?'

'Equal third. It was just such a stupid end, I completely lost it.'

'So you are not really quitting then?' said Sam while she moved around the kitchen unpacking the grocery bags. Sophie shrugged. 'You should start thinking before you speak in moments like this. Otherwise you are going to be one of those girls who throw herself under a bus after her boyfriend breaks up with her.'

'Yeah, I know, melodrama is incompatible with real life. I am just sick of losing to kids five years younger than I am.'

Sophie had to endure Sam's long, searching look. If Sophie tended to get anxious about everything that went wrong in her day, Sam took the daily misfortunes she encountered with clinical detachment. It was this calmness and Sophie's tendency to give way when pressured that allowed them to live peacefully with one other despite their very different lifestyles and interests. Sam did not believe in competitive sport and Sophie had developed in passionate hatred of anarchist poetry Sam's friends often read when they came over.

'We are going out,' said Sam at last. 'Have you had a shower yet?'

'I am not in the mood to go out,' said Sophie.

'I am not dragging out to a theatre rehearsal or anything of that kind, don't worry. St. Luke's is throwing a party tonight.'

Australian universities provided little accommodation for their students, most continued living with their families or in shared apartments like Sophie and Sam. There were, however, residential colleges just outside the university grounds where one could stay. St. Luke's College was the sort of place that at first glance looked like it still belonged to the Nineteenth Century. It provided accommodation only for men and gave preference to those who came from Catholic schools. Every Friday students had to dress in academic robes for a formal dinner and then sit thought a speech from one of the former college's students. On the other hand, St. Luke would probably been appalled to see the depravity that went on at the parties that the college hosted. These parties were notorious throughout the university.

'I'd rather not get raped by some half-illiterate rugby player, thanks,' said Sophie.

'I am not giving you a choice. Go get dressed; I'll help you with your hair.'

Sophie shook her head, but gulped down the rest of the tea and went to get ready.

* * *

Two hours later Sophie was shaking from the cold. Sam had persuaded Sophie to wear the shortest dress her owned and to go without a coat over the top. Already music spilled out from the college and they could see people dancing on the second floor. Sophie must have looked uncomfortable enough that the bouncers became suspicious. Sam glided past without notice, but Sophie had to show her driver's licence to prove that she was eighteen. By the time she got inside, Sam was already lost in the crowd.

Sophie rolled her eyes as she made her way between people attempting to converse despite the blasting hip hop music. She knew no one else here and Sam was gone for good. This sure promised to be a good night.

'Looking for me?' said one of the students as Sophie shuffled past.

'If she is looking for you, it is only to see the St. Luke's exhibit of freaks and losers,' replied someone next to him. 'I, on the other hand, am precisely what this dear lady is looking for.'

'You know, I am a fencer. I know how to kill you in thirty-six different ways! Now fuck off!' said Sophie loudly enough to make sure that she was heard over the music. The students seemed to have understood since they laughed nervously.

They said nothing more so Sophie continued walking around. As it turned out, not all of the college was Nineteenth Century sandstone construction. The new wing had been built at an irregular angle to the older building, no doubt to make sure that you could not see it from the main entrance. The architecture suggested that it belonged to the Whitlam Era when the Australian government gave money to everyone who asked. That money must have run out when the Governor-General booted Whitlam out of office, because only a small, unroofed bridge connected the two buildings.

When Sophie approached, there were only a single group of three people standing on the bridge and the music was quieter here, although Sophie could hear that there were people partying somewhere nearby. It was the best place to make a phone call that Sophie has found so far. She had some friends at a women's college down the road, if they were at the college, she would drop in for a visit.

Sophie leaned against the side of the bridge as she waited for someone to pick up the phone. Voices grew louder and when she turned around, she saw about half a dozen people on the roof. Two of them were straddling the gargoyle that sat just above the bridge. Sophie decided that if one of them fell she would not endeavour to save them.

'Hello, Olya speaking,' came Olya's voice over the phone at last.

'Hey, it's Sophie. You home?'

Sophie frowned as she heard a scraping amidst the jeering and laughing. A third person was climbing up on the creature's horned head. There was another scrape as he grabbed onto the horns and pulled himself up, his feet rested on the creature's shoulders.

Suddenly Sophie heard a thunderous crack and the entire sculpture leaned forward. People screamed. Those who had climbed on top of the gargoyle did not have time to jump back down to the roof.

As if in slow motion, Sophie watched the gargoyle flip over and fall. It crashed straight through the base of the bridge. It drowned out all other sound. As the structure began to disintegrate, Sophie felt the railing give way and the concrete under her feet crumble.

She never heard Olya's answer.


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Camomile, jasmine and traces of a dozen other scents hung in the air. The blanket was soft, yet crisp, as if just washed. It fell snugly over Sophie's body. She blinked and once her eyes adjusted to the brightness of her surroundings, she looked around. A painting of an unfamiliar landscape dominated one wall. Two beds stood to the left of Sophie's bed and another on the right, but they were unoccupied.

'_Le suilon_.'

Sophie flinched. While she was attempting to understand where she was, she did not notice a dark-haired man enter through the arched doorway on the other side of the room. Sophie peered at the man as he moved closer. His clothes were strange. Not even the type a medieval re-enactor might wear, but something reminiscent of traditional Japanese clothing. Yet despite the numerous folds and the delicate embroidery, the style seemed to fit him. Sophie thought he would look strange in jeans or even a business suit.

The man spoke again in a soft tone. Sophie bit her lip, it did not sound like any language with which she was familiar.

'Um, вы говорите по-русски или английски?' she attempted, only to be met with silence. 'François? Italiano? Können Sie Deutsch sprechen?'

'Do you understand my words?' asked the man with a small smile.

'Oh, thank the lord! You speak English!'

'We usually refer to this language as Westron,' he said.

Sophie now noticed that he had an obvious accent. The pitch flowed too melodically and his vowels were too pure, especially compared with the Australian dialect she heard every day. Sophie wondered if he had taken elocution lessons in the past.

'Where am I? This is clearly not the Royal Prince Albert,' said Sophie. 'In fact, what happened?'

'Men refer to this valley as Rivendell, although among elves it is known as Imladris. I am Lord Elrond Peredhil, master of Rivendell.'

'How did I come to be in your...Rivendell?' said Sophie with cold dread washing over her. _Surely he did not mean to say 'elves'?_

'Scouts found you unconscious in the wilderness and brought you here so that your injuries could be treated. Do you have any memory of what happened to cause such damage?'

Sophie frowned. She did not feel injured, a little sore maybe. However, when she looked down, she noticed a bandage on her hand and scrapes all over her arms. For the first time she also noticed that taking deep breaths made her ribs ache. After a moment, images of the footbridge emerged to the forefront of Sophie's thoughts and the feeling that the floor was melting underneath her made her shudder.

'I was at a party. There were guys on the roof messing around with the gargoyle, except then the gargoyle broke off. It fell onto the footbridge I was on. That is the last thing I remember,' she said.

It was only because she was a fencer and used to observing minute details that she noticed Elrond's gaze narrow and stance shift to appear more menacing. He now spoke with no trace of earlier gentleness:

'Elrohir found you in the wilderness. No buildings in sight.'

Sophie was not sure how she should approach this last piece of information. Everything about this situation was odd, from Elrond's elaborate robes to the carved design on the ceiling.

'You have creative names here, Elrond. Is Elrohir a relative?' she said.

'My son,' responded Elrond. 'As to names, you have yet to reveal yours.'

'Sophie Behr.'

'Well, Sophie Behr, you ought to learn subtlety when you attempt to divert a conversation,' snapped Elrond and Sophie could not contain a wince. 'How did you find yourself miles away from any mortal settlement and with nothing on you except indecent garments? Where do you come from? An honest answer this time!'

'You make it sound like I am lying! I am from Sydney, Australia. I have no reason to lie,' said Sophie softly, looking at the foot of her bed. She had never felt comfortable when someone older began shouting at her, but this man was something else. The tone with which he demanded an answer left no doubt in Sophie's mind that should her answer dissatisfy him, she would suffer for it.

'_Hîr __ Elrond!'_ came another male voice just as Elrond was about to reply. A man dressed less ostentatiously than Elrond entered the room with a stack of books in his hands. He noticed Sophie immediately. 'Good morning to you. It is good to see you on the mend. Elrond, may I have a moment?'

'Erestor, you have a great passion for geography, do you not? Have you heard of Australia?' said Elrond. She was amazed to hear how civil Elrond sounded after the way he had just spoken to her.

'No, I never came across such name. Perhaps if I knew something of its etymology?'

'What about Sydney? Melbourne? New Zealand?' tried Sophie with withering hope.

She shook her head, praying that this was a trick and the presenter would jump out from beneath the bed to reveal the hidden camera at any second. Erestor must have caught the uneven, quivering tone of her last words, because he gave her a pitiful look and said:

'Would you sketch us a map of your homeland?'

At Elrond's nod, Erestor set his books down on the foot of Sophie's bed and left the room. Sophie pulled the blanket up to her chin as once more she found herself under Elrond's unwavering gaze. She had never imagined that she would be so happy to see someone return after a thirty-second absence as she was with Erestor. He handed Sophie a piece of thick, obviously hand-made paper and charcoal, which Sophie accepted gladly. In other circumstances, she would have been hesitant to draw anything for others to see, she was a poor artist and only a slightly better geographer. Today, she no longer cared.

It had been several years since high school geography, so the map was very rough, but Sophie was satisfied with her efforts. It was oblivious where Sydney and Australia lay. She handed the drawing to Elrond.

'This is fascinating,' remarked Erestor when Elrond passed the drawing to him. However, Elrond looked less enthusiastic. While Erestor and Sophie waited for him expectantly, he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and sighed. He finally spoke after a long pause.

'Sophie Behr, what do you know of Arnor?' said Elrond. 'What of Gondor? Rohan? Eregion?'

'Look, I know Tolkien is a good writer. I am a big fan of the Lord of the Rings, but can you speak normally now?' replied Sophie.

'Please answer my question.'

'I really don't see the point...' Sophie said. 'Fine. These places don't exist, no more than Elrond and Elrohir do. They are fictional.'

'No, I am quite certain I do exist, as do the aforementioned regions. On the other hand, not one part of the world you drew here appears familiar. Nor the writing you have employed in this sketch. Thus, only a few conclusions are possible. First, you are a deluded youth from one of the villages in Arnor. Your manner of speech makes this scenario unlikely. Second, you are purposefully lying, but the disbelieving expression you wear and your previous behaviour lead me to strike out this idea also.' said Elrond. 'The last possibility is an unlikely one, but I see no other explanation. You come from a different world where the history of this world is considered fiction.'

'Are you insane!'

'Lord Elrond, are you certain?' said Erestor amidst Sophie's protestations. 'This notion sounds utterly outlandish.'

To the surprise of both Erestor and Sophie, Elrond smiled and shook his head.

'Surely you can hear it? What dialect does she speak? I have never heard speech such as this and I know more languages than I care to count. What of the clothing she wore when she was found? Something unnatural has occurred here, Erestor.'

* * *

Sophie propped herself up on her elbows as best she could with her injuries and listened to the sounds around her. She did not dare relax.

There was no way she would accept that she was in Middle-Earth; she was a rational person. The best explanation she could think of was mass self-delusion. Lord of the Rings fanatics were notorious for their devotion, it was easy to imagine a wealthy fan converting his estate into Rivendell and then inviting fellow fans to share the recreation. Sophie had to admit, they had done a good job of making the place look authentic.

Nevertheless, the obvious facts remained – Sophie had been brought to 'Rivendell' against her will -kidnapped. It suggested that they were unlikely respect her opinions in the future and Sophie could not be sure of her safety with these people.

Silence reigned as Sophie made her decision. She threw off the blanket and climbed out of the bed. In doing so, she nearly tripped over a pair of slippers someone had left by the bed, but she was glad for the find. They appeared to be sturdy and would be of more use that the Victorian-style nightgown in which she had been dressed.

Sophie briefly considered the window; however, the room looked out on a five-metre drop with rocky ground below. She decided to try her luck with the entrance Elrond and Erestor had used. On the other side of the archway, Sophie found another room. Here jars lined the numerous shelves; bandages lay in tight rolls. Sophie glanced at papers that littered the desk, but they were in a strange script. Elvish, no doubt.

She did not hesitate any longer. After passing through several rooms, Sophie came to a hallway that led outside. Here she was lost. The sun was pale and the trees were bare. It could not be any area near Sydney; it had to be deep in the mountains or somewhere in Tasmania. Sophie's heart pumped at a furious pace and her breath was caught deep in her throat. Australia was a vast place. She could be days from the nearest settlement. Still, at least she would be away from these lunatics.

Sophie took the first track that seemed to lead up towards the hills and hopefully, out of the valley. She ran as she had never run in all her life before, feet slipping as she followed the sharp twists in the path. Eventually she slowed down, she enthusiasm waning. Several times she also encountered other 'elves' whose eyes followed her with unguarded curiosity. Then the worst appeared before her.

'Shit! What now?' muttered Sophie.

The path ended at a small clearing before a riverbank. This stream ran parallel to the hilltop; she had to find a crossing. Resigning herself to ticks, spiders and snakebites, Sophie headed straight through the forest along the riverbank. This valley was a peculiar place; there was no sign of a eucalyptus or a kookaburra anywhere, quite unlike Australia.

'_Daro! Man ceril?_' said someone behind her.

Sophie could not hide her shock as she turned to face the newcomer. She had not heard the man approach and yet there he was, pointing a sword at her throat. Slowly, Sophie raised her arms in surrender. She looked on in utter confusion as another figure emerged, a woman this time. She kept one hand on her skirt to avoid dragging the hem along the forest floor and placed the other hand on the man's shoulder. They exchanged words in a foreign language, then the man lowered his weapon.

'Please, let me go,' said Sophie.

'And you will head where?' asked the man.

'Anywhere but here. I won't accept this rubbish about this being Middle-earth. If you want to keep this place quiet, by all means, I won't tell anyone. I just -'

'What is your name?' asked the woman and startled Sophie out of the desperate monologue she had launched.

'Sophie.'

'Well met, Sophie. I am Arwen Undomiel and this is Estel,' said Arwen softly. She had the rather bland pitch of a foreigner who had learned to speak from a textbook. 'It is not my father's habit to keep those who would not be kept. However, we would be most pleased if you would join us for lunch before you leave. Estel and I have a blanket laid out not far from here.'

Sophie sighed. Rationally, she knew she should flee at that very moment. Any food or drink they offered could be laced and there may be men waiting to bring her back to her room. Arwen seemed friendly, but it was likely that Arwen was an accomplice of her father and brother. On the other hand, Sophie was hungry already; she needed food if she did not want to collapse in the middle of some godforsaken forest in Australia's vast wilderness. Not to mention the man's sword, he certainly looked as if he knew how to use it.

_No, it would be better to pretend to cooperate for now_.

'I would be glad to,' said Sophie with the most sincere smile she could manage.

Estel took Sophie's hand and helped her along the sloping riverbank. She was still amazed that she had not heard them approach. Dry leaves covered the forest floor so it was impossible to avoid stepping on them. Sophie felt like a rampaging elephant as she tried to make her way through the forest and that was with Estel's help.

Arwen was truthful about the blanket at least. Estel and Arwen had made themselves comfortable beside a small pool that had formed to accommodate water coming down from the hills above. They had already laid out the food. These were plain things: cheese, bread, some type of cold meat and several varieties of fruit. While Sophie and Arwen sat down, Estel grabbed a pitcher and poured wine for Sophie.

'Are your wounds healing?' asked Arwen as she picked up a peach.

'It hurts to breathe deeply, but there is little other cause to complain,' said Sophie although by now her arm throbbed and she felt as if needles were pressing into her ribcage.

Sophie was careful to eat what Arwen and Estel had already eaten, she realised this was not a perfect method, but it made her feel safer. In watching what they ate, Sophie also began to notice how similar Arwen and Estel looked. Both were dark and grey eyed, they had a similar air of nobility about them. It was Arwen who really stood out though; Sophie did not think she had ever seen someone so beautiful before.

'My God, you even have pointed ears,' said Sophie suddenly. Arwen's ears were almost hidden underneath her hair, so Sophie had not noticed before.

'To have ears like that was my dearest wish when I was a child. Of course, no matter my pleading that was not to be,' replied Estel, making Arwen shake her head.

'The Atani make too much of this,' she said.

'So they are real?' asked Sophie and was met with confused expressions. 'You haven't had surgery to make them this way?'

'Come, see for yourself.'

Sophie was about to decline, there was something not quite right about touching a stranger's ears whether you had permission to do so or not. Curiosity, however, won over propriety. Sophie moved over to Arwen, who lifted her dark curls to expose one ear fully. This was possibly the most awkward moment of Sophie's life. She pressed down on Arwen's ear and traced the shape of the tip. The skin was smooth and there was no trace of scar tissue.

'I am sorry, I shouldn't have done that,' muttered Sophie as she moved away.

'Are you unwell?' said Estel.

Sophie swallowed the rising bile in her throat. She had seen people with pointed ears before, it was a common enough mutation, but their ears did not look like Arwen's. Usually, it was merely a bulb of extraneous tissue on an ordinary ear that made it appear pointed. Arwen's ears were not like that at all. Sophie stared at Arwen and shook her head. Not a single acne scar or wrinkle marked her face, even at nineteen Sophie was starting to find first traces of aging on her face and she was sure that she was younger than Arwen. All in all, Arwen simply did not look human.

'You really are Arwen, aren't you? And you must be Aragorn. ' said Sophie after a painfully long moment. 'I'm really in Middle-Earth... I should have known when I saw the trees here or when you two snuck up on me! Humans make noise when they walk, but elves are quieter... One by one, I would not think about these things twice, but all of this is too weird. Oh, God...'

'Sophie?' said Arwen worriedly.

She shook her head, tears building up in her eyes. 'How do I get home?'

* * *

'Gandalf, what do you know of this?' pressed Elrond.

He had explained the situation with all the detail he could muster for the moment. His innate intuitiveness begged him to question Sophie at a greater length, the youth, however, has fallen asleep minutes after Aragorn and Arwen brought her back to her hospital wing. She has stayed awake long enough for Elrond to remedy the damage her attempted flight had caused, not a moment more. Elrond understood how necessary sleep was to her healing body at this moment, but it let him with few alternate avenues for which he could gather information, particularly since the wizard was being as disobliging as Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel in their worst moods.

'The elves do not have the knowledge to inspire travel between universes. Is it possible that her arrival in Imladris is a manipulation of Saruman or his new master?' said Elrond, now uttering his thoughts aloud rather than conversing with Gandalf. Perhaps that is why Gandalf lowered his pipe at last and said:

'Do you see evil in her, Master Peredhil?'

'Evil may wear many faces. Sauron once came to us in the fair form of Annatar and deceived many of my kin, we cannot be so trusting again,' said Elrond. 'No, I do not understand this. Did the will of the Valar bring her here? Is she to be our aid in the coming struggle?'

'I see no reason for such a conclusion. It might be that Sophie's arrival is of no one's doing, simply a wrong note struck in the symphony that shapes the world. Alternatively, her own universe might be the culprit, we know nothing of the powers inhabitants of Sophie's world possess,' said Gandalf.

Elrond sighed and stood up from the worn armchair, he had hoped to spend an hour or so reading before the light faded. That was not to be. Gandalf's presence aside, he could not make himself at ease. The year was drawing to a close and each day brought worse tidings. The next would be worse. Soon, far too soon, Sauron would unleash his armies upon Middle-Earth. Elrond could not quite glimpse how the war would conclude, but his mind reeled at the scores of possibilities, each more soul crushing than the last.

'Sophie knows of us as fictional characters. She will know the ending also,' said Elrond, turning to look directly at Gandalf.

'It is true that she knew Estel as Aragorn, but there may be little other knowledge she can offer.'

'Moreover, if she was absent in the story she is familiar with; her mere presence here could cause deviations. Sophie interrupted Aragorn and Arwen today and that might have been enough,' nodded Elrond. 'She is useless to us.'

'Time will tell, Elrond,' said Gandalf. He gazed past Elrond and watched the smoke rings as they drifted out from the balcony and into the valley. 'Sophie may have a part to play, but she is only a single leaf caught in the coming storm.'


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

The next time Sophie woke, it was dark outside and oil lamps lit the room. Arwen greeted her with a warm smile, her eyes glittering far too brightly for light the lamps provided.

'You haven't been sitting here all this time, have you?' asked Sophie. She blushed, realising her rudeness and added. 'My lady.'

'This is a peculiar situation for us and for you it must be terrifying. I thought it best if you woke to a face that is somewhat familiar,' responded Arwen. 'Shall I call for dinner?'

'If it is not too much trouble, my lady,' said Sophie.

In her panic, it had been easy to disregard etiquette; after all, you were rarely told off for disrespecting lunatics. Now, Sophie's cheeks burned at the thought of her earlier behaviour. This really was Elrond, one of the oldest elves in Middle-Earth and Arwen really was sitting before her. Arwen – Galadriel's granddaughter and the future queen of Gondor. Sophie was at loss as to how to she should behave.

'It should only be a few minutes,' said Arwen when she re-entered the room. 'Let us sit outside while we eat.'

Sophie nodded for the lack of any appropriate words. She took her time to get out of bed, as she was still drowsy. Arwen then lifted a cloak that had lain on the neighbouring bed and helped Sophie put it on. When she looked at it closer, Sophie was sure that she had seen it earlier, folded neatly beside the food and the wine Arwen and Aragorn had shared with her. _Was this Arwen's own cloak?_ Arwen must have noticed Sophie's hesitation, because she said:

'Elves do not feel the cold as humans do, unless the weather is particularly bitter or we are injured, the cloak is more a decoration than a necessity.'

Arwen took Sophie though the office she had seen earlier, then led her into a room like with beds similar to Sophie's own. However at the far end of this room was a screen door that led to a veranda. Two tables and half a dozen chairs took up most of the space there.

'I am sorry if I do something rude, I am not used to associating with aristocracy,' muttered Sophie. 'I might as well be upfront about this.'

'If you are not in the habit of calling people "my lady", do not do so. We are not despots here. How would you refer to me in your world?'

'Arwen, I guess.'

'Then Arwen it shall be here too.'

Arwen turned her head and Sophie followed her gaze. She sat that two elves now stood at the doorway with trays of food and cutlery. Arwen beckoned them to approach. As the two elves laid out the food before them, Sophie's mouth watered. She had ended up eating very little the entire day. For a while, she was content just to enjoy the food in silence. Once she cleared most of her plate, however, she could no longer ignore the nagging question in her mind.

'Arwen, what is the date?'

'December, 18th, 3018th year of the – '

'Third Age,' finished Sophie. 'And Aragorn is about to leave with the Fellowship.'

'What do you know of this? My father spoke to me while you slept; he said you know us as characters in a book. What is the book about?' said Arwen as she set down her fork, for the first time Sophie felt that Arwen was also nervous.

Sophie found herself struggling to summarise the entirety of the Lord of the Rings into one sentence, especially since she had last read the book when she was still in high school.

'It is about Sauron launching a war in Middle-Earth,' she said, 'and Frodo's quest to destroy the Ring.'

'Do not speak so loudly about such things, you never know who might be listening,' hissed Arwen and in a half-whisper, she continued. 'Does Aragorn survive? What of Legolas?'

However, Arwen cut Sophie off before she had so much as opened her mouth. 'No, you cannot tell me. Any event that occurs prompts the unveiling of others and to alter one is to put the entire quest into jeopardy.'

'Well, there is a good ending,' said Sophie. 'I can tell you that, can't I?'

Arwen did not smile. She picked up her fork, but her gaze was towards something in the distance that was invisible to Sophie's eyes. She looked so troubled that Sophie nearly told her everything there was to know about the destruction of the Ring.

'It would have been better if you had not said that,' said Arwen after a moment. 'Not a word to anyone about what you know, Sophie, promise me.'

'I promise,' replied Sophie with a sigh.

Arwen's gaze lingered on Sophie's face, perhaps in an attempt to gage Sophie's sincerity. After a long pause, Arwen nodded, but her frown remained as deep as before. So, with Arwen miserable and Sophie suffocating with guilt at being unable to remedy Arwen's poor mood, they finished the dinner with awkward, faltering conversation about the view and the weather.

* * *

Glorfindel hurriedly added more timber to the fire that had begun to die down, but he paid more attention to what he could see through the small, cod-webbed window of the kitchen than to the flames that lapped at the pots above the fire. Glorfindel's gaze followed a robin milling in the middle of the path, there was no sign of any other creature approaching.

This fed the dark thoughts that already permeated Glorfindel's thinking on days like this. Ambrethil, his son, usually returned from patrol as swiftly as he could, especially when Ambrethil knew that his father would be waiting in Imladris. Glorfindel rearranged the small braids that kept his hair out of the dinner he was making and attempted to calm himself. The candles were still long and straight, only a few drops of wax had slid down to the base. It was not that late and if he thought about this logically, there were a hundred possible reasons for Ambrethil's delay. It could be that he met someone on the way home and lost track of time, Ambrethil had done such things in the past.

As Glorfindel stirred the broth, out of the corner of this eye he saw the robin fly up and disappear between the trees. He turned to look out the window once more and this time, he grinned. He could now see three men heading towards the house with Ambrethil walking somewhat in front of the other two. Even in the dim light Ambrethil's silver hair shone like _mithril_ and he appeared to move unhindered, which stilled Glorfindel's worries about injuries.

The elves had no locks on their front doors, that was a dwarven compulsion, but Glorfindel abandoned the pots over the fireplace for a few moments and rushed to open the door anyway. He pulled Ambrethil into a warm embrace before the younger elf even stepped inside.

'I hope you forgive me for bringing a few guests,' said Ambrethil as they parted. 'To be precise, I only invited Erestor. Lindir invited himself as usual.'

'I am only doing you a favour, Ambrethil. Dinner with your father and Erestor is bound to be full of talk about reports and complaints about Elrond's bad temper. I will provide entertainment to liven up the otherwise disappointing night,' replied Lindir as he stepped into the house.

'A high claim to make for someone with so little musical talent!' laughed Ambrethil.

'I am glad to see you again, Lindir, regardless of what my son might tell you,' said Glorfindel.

Lindir and Ambrethil enjoyed provoking one other, despite the age difference between the two. Their easy camaraderie was probably the result of Lindir's light heartedness, in many ways his character was the very juxtaposition to Glorfindel's morose temperament. Lindir provided Ambrethil with relief from Glorfindel's long periods of brooding and however much Glorfindel found Lindir's simplistic views irritating, the elf was a good minstrel. His music was always welcome in Glorfindel's house.

'We'll settle ourselves, Glorfindel, something is beginning to burn,' said Erestor.

Glorfindel motioned for the others to move out of the narrow hallway where Ambrethil and he tended to keep their travel gear and dirty clothes, then hurried back to the kitchen. Erestor had a good nose, the duck just beginning to burn and since the vegetable stew looked finished; Glorfindel arranged the food onto different plates. He knew that the fire would die out on its own and decided that he would clean up in the morning. Glorfindel pulled open the curtain that divided the kitchen from the rest of the house; he would have to make several trips to bring all the food, wine and utensils out.

Unlike in the dining hall of main house, Glorfindel and Ambrethil had a low table and usually sat on thick rugs and cushions rather than chairs. It was the more traditional way of eating, although few in Imladris had retained the custom. Lindir had set down his harp next to Ambrethil's and was helping Ambrethil to prepare the room for company. Erestor, in his usual fashion, hung back, observing. It took Glorfindel a moment to realise what had fascinated Erestor so, but he soon realised that the last time Erestor visited Glorfindel and Ambrethil had not yet extended the house and still slept by the dining table. Glorfindel had decided a while ago that Ambrethil needed private space now that he was a grown man, but they had taken time to finish the construction.

'How was the patrol?' said Glorfindel when at last everyone sat down to eat. Ambrethil swallowed a large piece of the duck he had shoved in his mouth and replied:

'More signs of orc activity in the North. I do not think they realised we were scouting them, but it was tense – they nearly tripped over us on several occasions. No injuries though.'

'It is good to hear that all came back unscathed, I was worried.'

'You are always worried, father. I wonder sometimes if your hair would turn grey like a mortal's with all your worry,' said Ambrethil.

His words produced sniggers from Lindir and Erestor, but Glorfindel found his temper rising. He speared a large piece of duck and sunk it into the broth. He had spoken about his concerns to Ambrethil on many occasions, no matter how inexperienced Ambrethil was about the world outside the borders of Imladris; Glorfindel would have liked Ambrethil to understand his father's views by now.

'My worry is only the concern of a man who has seen war before,' muttered Glorfindel.

'This is a different age, Glorfindel,' replied Erestor. 'No more balrogs, vampires or dragons. I different end awaits us.'

'Why must the conversation always turn to orcs and balrogs?' We have good food, good wine and good company. Can we speak of something merrier?' said Lindir.

'While we still can,' added Ambrethil as he cast a worried glance at Glorfindel. Others might have missed the tension in Glorfindel's body and his dark expression, but Ambrethil knew him too well not to see that Glorfindel was irritated at Ambrethil's words.

'There is certainly a merrier topic that comes to my mind. After decades of research, I have finally found out what happened after Bilbo Baggins visited Mirkwood and treated the guards to the Dorwinion,' said Erestor.

While Bilbo Baggins had made the story of the escape from Mirkwood famous in Imladris, the Mirkwood elves had always been tight-lipped about the incident. They admitted it happened, but said no word of Thranduil's reaction. Everyone was aware, however, that Thranduil's temper was as potent as of any of the Feanorians, so imagination had filled in the gaps in information and a plethora of rumours had emerged about the incident.

'And you expect us to believe this?' replied Lindir with a laugh.

'Have you no faith in me?' said Erestor as he poured himself another goblet of wine. 'Wine for anyone else?'

Glorfindel studied Erestor's face as the elf topped up Ambrethil's and Lindir's goblets. He was as sceptical as Lindir, but there was no sign of deceit that Glorfindel could identify and if anyone were to succeed in finding out the true story, it would be Erestor.

'This is no trick, this is the truth and it comes from the mouth of Prince Legolas, who rather lacks his father's head for strategic diplomacy,' said Erestor with a sly smile. 'Unfortunately, there are no spiders and no one was hung upside down. And no, Thranduil did not tear off his clothes in a fit of anger either. Pity.'

'Why pity exactly?' Ambrethil asked.

'Because Thranduil is not unfortunate looking!' replied Erestor with a laugh. 'But if I may return to the point. According to Legolas Thanduilion, after the King made an extensive search of the area and found no one besides the drunken guards, he decided punishment was necessary. He ordered marching practice for every soldier in Mirkwood. Thranduil, forbade the drunken guards to get anything for their hangover and made them to join their march.'

'Has anyone ever seen Mirkwood elves march? There is a full brass band and five different types of drums as accompaniment. The racket is such that every creature within twenty miles flees! You can imagine the headaches those guards had by the end of the fourth day when Thranduil finally bid them to stop.'

'Well, that does sound like Thranduil, does it not?' sniggered Lindir. 'Although I've heard far more scandalous rumours about this.'

'I think this is a case of the rumour being more exciting than the truth,' said Glorfindel. 'But how did you pry the story out of the prince?'

'Legolas should have known not to gamble with those who are wiser than he.'

'You are a cruel man,' replied Lindir between spoonfuls of the vegetable stew. Glorfindel had no doubt that Lindir had been a victim of Erestor's prowess with playing cards in the past.

Erestor sipped on his wine and set the goblet down on the table with a sharp clang. 'In a way, I did Mirkwood a great service. The truth would have become known sooner or later, but Thranduil cannot be that angry if his own son revealed the truth.'

'His favourite son, I hear,' said Lindir.

Glorfindel and Erestor laughed, but Ambrethil frowned. 'Why are you so critical of Prince Legolas? He does not find comfort among elves he is unfamiliar with, but he is good-humoured and as brave as any elf I have met.'

'He is an ungrateful fool, likely the product of his father's indulgence. Prince Legolas rode here just to deliver a message. Yet while here, he managed to gamble away more money than many lesser born see in centuries and now he is off on that quest of Elrond's! This is a time when Mirkwood needs every soldier on its side, yet the prince abandons his post,' snorted Glorfindel.

Ambrethil shook his head. 'That is Lord Elrond's doing, not his and Prince Legolas is not as foolish as he might appear. He fooled even Erestor it seems.'

'How so?' asked Erestor.

'As you have noted, he went about establishing his reputation as a poor gambler from the moment he arrived and by the beginning of this month, his lack of skill was so renowned that the dwarves challenged him to a round a few weeks back. In two hours, Prince won about half the treasury of the Lonely Mountain! More than enough to recuperate his losses against the elves,' said Ambrethil as he scooped out the last few spoonfuls of the broth, struggling not to burst out laughing in the middle of his speech. 'Gloin was practically frothing from the mouth.'

'Well, if the dwarves launch war upon the elves, we know who to blame,' said Lindir once raucous laughter quietened. 'But you ought to have known not to trust Thranduil's spawn, Erestor. They breed them differently in Mirkwood.'

Erestor laughed along with everyone else and continued sipping at his wine, but his earlier smile faded from his face. On the other hand, Glorfindel knew that Erestor would never voice disappointment over failed ploys or anger when he was outplayed, the elf preferred to keep setbacks to himself. Lindir must have sensed a change in Erestor's mood also, because he cleared his throat and said:

'I believe I promised Glorfindel and Ambrethil entertainment. What song shall it be?'

* * *

Sophie continued to avoid Elrond's gaze despite his best attempts to keep his gestures calm and his tone mild. Elrond had watched her for days to see if she avoided physical contact or flinched with others. She was somewhat shy, but had taken to Arwen easily and struck up casual conversations with other elves who happened to enter her room. Elrond had no other conclusion he could make, he was responsible for Sophie's behaviour.

He realised now that after weeks of arguments with Elladan, Elrohir, Erestor, Gandalf and Glorfindel over the composition of the Fellowship, Elrond had unleashed his frustrations upon Sophie while he questioned her. Moreover, he simply left her alone without so much as an explanation, let alone counsel, after revealing that she was now in a different world. It was no wonder the girl fled at the first opportunity.

'Sophie, how are you feeling so far?' said Elrond gently. If he were to repair this, it would not be easy. 'It is time to take out the stiches in your arm.'

Sophie grimaced and kept silent. Elrond pulled a folding table closer to Sophie's bed. He looked over the instruments his apprentices had laid out and was glad that all appeared in order. The apprentices could have taken out the stiches themselves, but Elrond wanted a chance to interact more with Sophie.

Elrond pushed the sleeve of Sophie nightshirt up to her shoulder and unwound the bandage to expose the healing wound. He opened the vile of anti-septic and dipped a ball of cotton into the liquid. It took concerted effort not to react as the smell wafted throughout the room; Elrond had too many memories associated with this scent. He cleared his throat in an attempt to return to the present and ran over Sophie's injury with the soaked cotton. She winced as he did so.

'Have you ever had this done before?' he asked.

'No. I had to have stiches in my leg a few years ago after a school camping trip, but they were the type that dissolve in the skin so I never had to get them taken out.'

Elrond furrowed his eyebrows. 'What material were these sutures made of?'

'I have no idea,' she said.

'That is unfortunate; such technology would be very useful.'

Elrond picked up a pair of small, plain scissors and cut the tie that kept the stiches in place. He looked up to see Sophie looking down at his work with a half fascinated and half disgusted look on her face. Elrond could not count the number of men and elves that Elrond had seen with the same expression, some things remained the same no matter what universe one came from.

'This part may hurt a little,' said Elrond as he dropped the scissors back into the tray and picked up the tweezers.

Sophie clenched her jaw and fixed her eyes on the landscape on the opposite wall. Elrond pulled out the first stitch with little effort. He was careful with the next few since he was unsure of Sophie's tolerance to pain and unwilling to irritate the already damaged skin more than necessary. After the fifth stitch, he paused and Sophie turned her head to look at what had happened.

'This is tolerable, is it not?' he said.

'It's strange to see you pulling things out of my skin, but the pain is ok.'

Elrond smiled and continued removing the stitches, noting that Sophie no longer stared at the painting. Her gaze jumped from one thing to the next. He hurried to finish before Sophie became restless and made his work harder. Soon he dropped the final piece of thread into the bowl and set down the tweezers next to it.

'I would like to see your sprained hand also, but allow me to bandage this once again; there is still a chance of infection,' said Elrond.

'How am I going to repay you for this? I have no money with me,' said Sophie. 'If I am going to stay in this world, I will need to live off something.'

'Do not worry yourself with that for now, heal first.'

Elrond secured the bandage and turned his attention to Sophie's other hand. He was well practised in this, as he pressed his fingers in different points of the hand, he could name every muscle and ligament that he could feel. There was, however, one thing that puzzled Elrond. Sophie's body was utterly asymmetrical. Everyone had minor deviations that depended on what hand the person preferred to use or where muscles had built up to compensate for a misalignment of the bones. However, this was more obvious in Sophie's body than usual; Elrond had only seen this in trained human soldiers. Elrond flexed Sophie's fingers, noting the numerous calluses on her fingers and palm. She hardly acted like a soldier.

'What work do you do in your world?' asked Elrond. Sophie seemed startled out of a daydream and took a moment to reply.

'I am at university still so I don't work a lot. It's the usual stuff, waitressing at a restaurant and sometimes I babysit.'

'You babysit,' said Elrond thoughtfully. He hoped that the word had a secondary definition, because the meaning he had arrived at was profoundly disturbing. 'I am afraid I am unfamiliar with these terms, you will have to explain further.'

'Oh, right. A waiter or waitress takes people's orders and brings out the food at restaurants. A restaurant is where you can go if you don't want to cook your own food, I guess, and babysitting is just looking after small children if their parents want to go out on their own.'

Elrond nodded, his eyes focused on Sophie's hand. 'And the university?'

'Well, I don't know how this works here, but if you want to become a doctor, architect or something similar, you'll have to go to university and study several more years after finishing school.' said Sophie.

'What are you studying?'

'History,' she mumbled, as if suddenly embarrassed.

That was no answer to Elrond's questions about Sophie's physique, but Sophie's behaviour intrigued him. Elrond raised an eyebrow at Sophie's reddened cheeks and said:

'History is one of my favourite subjects.'

Sophie suddenly laughed. 'I am not surprised; you've lived through most of it.'

Elrond chuckled. At the same time, he was becoming more and more aware that he was disadvantaged in this conversation. Sophie knew intimate details about Middle-earth's inhabitants, while Elrond was not even certain of her age.

'I would be delighted to hear about the history of your world,' he said.

Sophie paused for a moment and then shook her head. 'I would never be able to make a coherent account. I think my world is much older than yours, as far as we know Earth is six billion years old and humans evolved over several hundreds of thousands of years.'

'Evolved? Languages evolve, how do men evolve?'

'The same way as languages I would guess, I am not an expert on biology,' replied Sophie. 'Look, it's a bit of a debate really. Some people still believe that God created the world six thousand years ago and created the first people. I don't think it's a good idea to get into this now.'

Elrond was always frustrated when someone chose to withhold knowledge from him, so he decided to merely change the line of questioning rather than give up entirely. As lightly as he could, he asked:

'Perhaps in this case you will tell something of your own story instead?'

'There isn't much to tell,' said Sophie, but when Elrond did not respond, she continued. 'Do you remember Europe on that map I drew you? Well, I was born in East Germany, one of the countries in Europe, shortly before it was reunified with West Germany. When I was six, we moved from Germany to St. Petersburg in Russia. It's a large country between Europe and Asia. The economy was in ruins and there was civil war in parts of the country, but it was not too bad for us. Then, after five years, we moved to Australia. That's really about it. I finished school, started university and ended up here.'

'You should not think of your coming here so casually,' said Elrond, deciding to leave the dozens of questions he had about world wars and reunifying states for later. 'Our worlds are very different; so why would we be able to understand one other with so few difficulties? It is illogical for two languages with such variant chronologies to be as similar as your English and our Westron. I do not know who or why, but I believe we were meant to understand each other.'

'I thought you said that Westron is just another name for English,' said Sophie with a deep frown.

'I had assumed you were from Middle-Earth when I spoke, I have had to alter my opinion.'


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

By the time Elrond allowed Sophie to leave the hospital wing, the Fellowship had left for the mountains and winter had truly come to Rivendell. The smaller creeks and pools had frozen over, waterfalls slowed to drips. Sophie dreaded the next months. It was not that the climate of the valley was particularly brutal, the temperatures would never rival the extremes of the Arctic Circle where some of her cousins lived, the problem was that the elves were not keen on separating the indoor and the outdoors. Cold drafts constantly swept through the house and she was sure that when the snowfalls came, snowflakes would cover many of the rooms.

Sophie was pleasantly surprised, however, to find that her new room had four walls, a solid wood door and a fireplace. She would not have survived the cold in a room with a balcony instead of window and only a curtain to separate the room from the passageway.

'Sophie, are you awake?' came Arwen's voice after a knock on the door. Sophie opened the door to let Arwen in. 'How was your first night here?'

'Good, good, but I need your help. I barely got out of the dress last night and I'm not sure I can get it back on!' said Sophie.

Arwen smiled and opened the wardrobe. There were only a small number of clothes there since Sophie had to rely on what the elves gave to her. Arwen lifted out a skirt and a green blouse out of the wardrobe.

'We are heading to breakfast, Sophie, there is no need for a dress if you do not wish to wear one,' said Arwen. 'Will you be going riding? If so, I will find you a pair of riding breeches. Unless, do you ride sidesaddle?'

'Sidesaddle? Of course not! To be honest, I haven't ridden a horse in years,' responded Sophie and answering Arwen's unspoken question, she explained: 'For about a hundred years we have had mechanised methods of transportation. If people ride horses it is either on farms or for pleasure.'

'You come from such a strange place.'

'There are far stranger things than cars here. Elves, for example,' replied Sophie. 'Can I have a moment to change then?'

Arwen looked at Sophie with confusion, then nodded and stepped out of the room. Sophie wondered if elves were more accustomed to changing in front of one other than Twenty-first Century humans. She hoped she had not offended Arwen somehow; the elf had been very kind to Sophie even if Sophie was still wary of Arwen's father. Sophie put on her skirt and the blouse as quickly as she could; there was no sense in making Arwen wait.

She pulled the door open only to find the hallway empty, although she could hear two people speaking in elvish somewhere in the distance. However, a moment later a young dark haired elf (younger than Elrond and Erestor at least) emerged from around the corner.

'Are you in need of directions?' he asked.

Sophie looked up at him, wondering why his shirt was so patched and yellowed; every other elf she had encountered had been immaculately dressed. The two silver rings on his left hand made it seem even more peculiar, the number of stones set into the silver made it clear that the rings were very expensive.

'Are you Elladan?' asked Sophie after a moment.

'Yes, I am and you must be Sophie. Elrohir would be delighted to hear you are doing well, we have been on patrol since before you were conscious,' said Elladan.

Sophie found herself searching for something more in his words although at first glance Elladan appeared to be friendly. '_Elrohir would be delighted', he had said. Did that mean he did not share his brother's opinion?_ Sophie shook off that thought; she had no reason to think that Elladan was hostile to her presence.

'You look a lot like your father. I don't suppose you have seen Arwen?' she asked instead.

'By the sound of it, Arwen and Elrohir are in the midst of an argument, so I expect Arwen will be longer than she had intended,' said Elladan with a shake of his head. 'Let me show you the way to the dining hall.'

Sophie accepted Elladan's lead. The way they took did not appear to be complicated, there were a few turns and a set of stairs, but Sophie was certain that she would be able to find her way in a day or two. Once they reached the hall, Elladan did not wait while Sophie admired the banners that hung from the ceiling and the frescoes to rival the masterpieces of the Sistine Chapel on the side walls. He sat himself down on the leftmost of the three tables that took up most of the space in the room and Sophie decided it was best to follow his example. She began placing food on her plate while Elladan greeted the elves about him.

'I hope you will find this adequate,' said Elladan once his attention returned to Sophie.

She raised an eyebrow at the fresh bread, various jams and boiled eggs that we laid out before her, let alone further along the table. Sophie was only a generation removed from those who had lived out their lives with Soviet ration cards and even she had dim memories of time when she lusted after the exotic looking packets of Swedish lollies. No, this is far more than adequate.

'Why wouldn't this be adequate?' she asked.

'I would not know what food you would usually eat at home.'

'Oh, of course,' blushed Sophie. 'This is pretty much the same.'

'You were well off then, where you lived before,' said Elladan between mouthfuls of buttered bread. '_That_ is interesting. I had assumed the opposite after Arwen said that you did not know how to behave around noble born. Proper etiquette is an important part of Mannish societies here.'

'So you asked about the food in hope that I would begin singing praises of Rivendell?' she asked.

'Not singing maybe,' replied Elladan with a soft laugh.

Sophie shook her head. 'Elves are strange! And you and your father are the worst.'

'_Elladan_, _ma i _– ' began a silver haired elf as he sat down opposite Sophie.

'Elrohir's good deed of the year,' replied Elladan in Westron before the other elf could finish. Sophie blushed at his words. 'Sophie, this is Ambrethil. He is a lieutenant of Imladris' forces and an aspiring poet when he is off-duty.'

'Better so than an aspiring vagabond. You are taking after the Dunadan! I would have designated that shirt to rags three summers ago,' said Ambrethil.

'What does it matter what I choose to wear to training?'

Sophie was unsure what the background to the conversation was, but both Elladan and Ambrethil became morose.

'You ought to take a rest. Why not show Sophie Imladris? You only returned to the valley last night,' said Ambrethil, although his tone suggested that he did not expect Elladan to take his advice.

'Why should I rest if I am not tired? Spar with me instead. Elrohir is far too predictable for a sparring partner. We can also show Sophie the training grounds while we are there,' said Elladan.

* * *

'So where do you come from, Sophie?' asked Ambrethil.

She was glad that the path was too narrow for three people to walk abreast and that Ambrethil was ahead of Sophie and Elladan, otherwise he would have been the panic-stricken look on her face. She really had no idea about what she should say and Elladan had to respond.

'Minhiriath as far as we can tell,' he said. 'Although Sophie has lost much of her memory before Elrohir and I found her.'

'I am sorry, Sophie. That is awful,' replied Ambrethil as he turned to look back at her. 'Will you stay here until you have recovered?'

'Lord Elrond has insisted on it. He has been very kind,' said Sophie. She decided it was best if she played her part for the charade. 'Of course right now I don't know in which direction to head if I were to return home.'

Ambrethil offered a sympathetic smile and turned to look before him as they came to a steep set of stairs that seemed to lead to the very base of the valley. Sophie now saw the river into which Rivendell's many streams flowed. It flowed fast and there was no trace of ice on its surface. Sophie wondered if Elrond's ring helped to protect the valley from the ravages of winter.

'These are our training grounds, Sophie. I guess this is similar to what you would have in your village,' said Elladan as he indicated towards the flat area beside the riverbank. 'Ambrethil and I need to practice; I hope you will not be bored.'

'That's unlikely,' said Sophie. 'I like watching fencing practice.'

Her gaze was already drawn to the two elves who were currently using the area Elladan had pointed out to Sophie. They were in the middle of a lesson with the shorter elf repeatedly striking to designated parts of the trainer's body. Ambrethil pointed to a carved wooden bench on the edge of the clearing and called out to Elladan in elvish.

'Have a seat there; you should have a good view,' said Elladan.

Sophie tried to make herself comfortable on the hard wood while Elladan and Elrohir disappeared into a small building on the other side of the clearing. It was almost entirely hidden from view by three thick oak trees so she had not noticed it before. She did not have long to wait however, the two elves emerged wearing padded armour and holding swords. Without so much as a word, they began a drill, which looked to be practice for maintaining proper distance from your opponent. Sophie watched their feet glide over trampled grass; she would have fallen flat on her face if she had attempted to move at such a speed on an uneven surface like this one.

Ambrethil and Elladan soon moved onto other exercises and perhaps a quarter of an hour later, the other two elves in the clearing finished their lesson, exchanging words Sophie could not hear. She sniggered when she realised that beneath their helmets both elves were red cheeked and dripping with sweat. Everyone tended to portray elves as immaculate, not a hair out of place even after Ragnarok and here they were panting with exhaustion like any common human. Sophie had to stifle laughter as the taller elf ran his fingers through his long golden hair and found his fingers stuck on a knot halfway down the length of his hair.

The shorter elf spoke to Sophie as he passed her. She guessed it was the local greeting, but had no idea what to say in reply so she nodded and turned her attention back to the golden haired elf. He appeared to give some instructions to Ambrethil, then watched as Elladan attacked and Ambrethil counterattacked while swerving to avoid Elladan's blade. He must have been satisfied because he turned away and headed in Sophie's direction. As he came within earshot, Sophie jumped up.

'Good morning, sir. Are you a coach here?' said Sophie before wistful thoughts even formed into a tangible idea. She ended up surprising herself. 'I was wondering about getting a few lessons.'

The elf's face was impossible to read, but he looked over Sophie with such a hard gaze this it made Sophie physically shiver. It seemed like an hour before he spoke:

'May I enquire as to your name?'

'Sophie Behr, sir.'

'I thought so. Do not worry, Elrond has spoken to me about you,' he said. 'You may call me Glorfindel.'

Sophie immediately recognised the name. 'It is an honour to meet you, sir!'

'As I said, call me Glorfindel. You are with those two?' said Glorfindel, as he looked back to Elladan and Ambrethil who were laughing about something. When Sophie confirmed his guess, Glorfindel smiled and shook his head. 'It is no wonder those two cannot find a maiden if they abandon one by the practice field not an hour after breakfast.'

'Glorfindel, I don't ask you because I am bored. I really want to learn.'

'We have seldom taught women swordcraft after the First Age, women in Imladris usually use knives or crossbows. Perhaps that will satisfy you?'

For a moment, Sophie prepared to launch herself into a passionate defence of women's rights, but a second look at Glorfindel's face stilled her fury. He looked troubled rather than angry and there had been nothing in his voice to suggest that he was being patronizing.

'I am not from Imladris, why must I follow your customs? Besides, war is coming. You will need soldiers.'

'It is often kinder to leave a half-trained warrior behind than take him to battle. More often than not, he finds himself at the bottom of a mass grave before a week has passed,' replied Glorfindel.

'I have experience,' started Sophie, 'of a sort. In my world we have a sport – fencing, it comes from sword fighting. The blades are blunt, but still...'

Glorfindel looked unconvinced and Sophie was out of ideas. She had made her case; the decision was up to Glorfindel.

'All right. Come, show me what you can do,' he said.

* * *

Swear words in half a dozen languages sped through Sophie's mind. This was just like her attempted flight from Rivendell; it seemed like a good idea for about the first thirty seconds. After that, Sophie felt like burying her head between her knees whenever she thought back to her stupidity.

Glorfindel had led her to the Armoury, the timber building where the elves stored their training gear. This elven version of a warehouse was freshly painted with delicate carvings snaking down the beams supporting the roof and there was the now familiar _tengwar_ to be found here and there. Sophie immediately thought back to the dusty, badly lit armoury of her fencing club and the smell of old sweat that hung in that room. She looked through the row of hanging jackets and pulled out the smallest one she could find.

'Here,' said Glorfindel passing her a dark coloured article of clothing. It took Sophie a few seconds to realise that this was a pair of breeches. She was wearing a skirt, hardly a suitable piece of clothing for fencing.

'Thank you, I forgot about the skirt,' she said.

Glorfindel turned around to allow her some privacy, but Sophie was more preoccupied with wistful thoughts about her two months old set of custom tailored, wicker lined FIE gear. These breeches were drooping at the crutch and very dusty, someone must have left them behind months, if not years ago. Everything was too large for her as well. Sophie tried out no less than twenty helmets before she found out the one least likely to fly off her head on a hard stroke.

'What type of sword to you use?' asked Glorfindel, while Sophie waded through a large box of gloves.

She looked up at the long rack of weapons. 'Are these sorted somehow?'

'By length and weight.'

Sophie could see now that the larger swords were on the right hand side of the wall. Most were recurved swords with grips almost as long as the blade itself and these two handed weapons were a mystery to Sophie. She did find, however, a few swords that could have come straight from the Middle Ages. She picked out the lightest of these. It had a narrow blade and a short grip, the closest to a foil that she could find. She would have preferred a pistol grip, but the straight, traditional grip would have to do.

'A Dunadan's sword? Interesting' said Glorfindel when he saw Sophie's choice. 'Let us go then.'

Once they were back outside, Sophie tested the weight of her sword, moving from one position to another, and then saluted Glorfindel. He copied Sophie's salute without comment, then made a curt bow. Sophie guessed that they had a different way of greeting their opponent.

Glorfindel put on his helmet and Sophie automatically came on guard: knees bent, feet wide apart and the torso half turned away from Glorfindel. Opposite her, Glorfindel was unmoved. Sophie took two cautious steps forward. Glorfindel slowly raised his sword to the level of his head making the tip glimmer in the pale winter sunlight. Sophie moved her front foot forward and paused. She was all too aware of his height advantage.

Sophie's mind was working at an impossible pace. She knew nothing of elven warfare other than what she had seen earlier. As far as she could see, elves preferred cutting motions to thrusting. This was most similar to sabre - a weapon she knew little about. Nevertheless, that connection became the beginning of her plan.

She shook off early nerves and began shifting from foot to foot, making subtle changes to distance between Glorfindel and her. When Sophie saw Glorfindel's hands quiver, she launched an attack to his right shoulder and held her breath. She made it past the first two parries, but the third caught her blade. Her natural instincts were telling her to flee, but Sophie stepped forward making Glorfindel's sweeping riposte end somewhere behind her head. Unsure of the etiquette, she stopped once her tip touched the padding around Glorfindel's neck.

'Not quite as bad as I feared. Come again,' said Glorfindel.

Sophie took a few steps back so that she returned approximately to where she had started before. Without warning Glorfindel advanced at Sophie, his sword high in the air. If she took a step back, she would be hit in the chest, her reward for a step forward would be a welt down the length of her spine and Sophie did not have the strength to parry Glorfindel properly. Panicking, Sophie resorted to her most desperate trick. She collapsed into a ball and left her sword arm extended, pointing the tip of the sword at the elf's abdomen.

Glorfindel retreated before either of them hit anything other than air and Sophie had the uncomfortable task of recovering from the position she had curled herself in without falling over her own feet. She was too slow. Glorfindel took her blade and with a sharp twist of his wrist, flicked Sophie's blade out of her hand.

'Retrieve your weapon,' said Glorfindel. 'Let's go on.'

They continued sparring for maybe ten more minutes more while Elladan and Ambrethil seemed to forget their own training. Although there were only two of them, they made a racket to rival a small crowd. Sophie smiled when she heard Ambrethil cheering for her rather than Glorfindel. As they went on, Sophie's successes became more and more infrequent and Ambrethil's support became the only consolation.

'I think this is enough,' said Glorfindel as he lowered his sword. He took off his helmet and pulled loose strands of hair out of his face. 'These tactics are very unusual, I am glad to have had this experience. Wait a moment, Sophie. Elladan, Ambrethil! Your own practice, please!'

'Forgive us, Glorfindel,' replied Elladan, not sounding apologetic at all.

Ambrethil and Elladan put their own helmets back on and resumed the drill they had abandoned to watch Sophie and Glorfindel sparring. Nevertheless, Glorfindel motioned for Sophie to follow him. He took her to the far side of the clearing so that they would be out of Elladan and Ambrethil's earshot.

'This style may serve you well in your own world, but here you will be dead in a half a minute. You think only in terms of forward and back. Battles occur in all directions and even if your first action succeeds, you cannot take a rest, there will be other opponents ready to kill you,' said Glorfindel.

Sophie could tell that Glorfindel was trying to be as cordial as he could in his tone, but she still felt her throat dry and her stomach clench. She grimaced, hoping she did not look too put out by his words.

'I realise that fencing originated after the invention of gun powder, which made heavy armour impractical and this had a lot of impact of the conventions of the sport,' she said,' but fencing is still the direct descendant of medieval warfare. Surely something of what I know can used here?'

Glorfindel made no comment about gunpowder or medieval warfare, although these terms had to be alien him. He shifted his weight from one foot to another and looked over Sophie's shoulder. She hoped it was not because he was irritated by the desperate tone of Sophie's voice.

'Would you know how to use something like my sword?' asked Glorfindel and at the shake of Sophie's head, he sighed.

'I know how to use a sabre, but that is one handed,' she said, although she had fenced with a sabre no more than half a dozen times in her life.

'Sabre?'

'It's a cutting weapon. It used to be the main weapon of mounted soldiers and... of pirates,' said Sophie. She wondered how accurate all those Hollywood pirate films actually were, not that it was important at this point.

'In another age I would have been willing to teach you and to learn more about this sport of yours. Unfortunately, you come to us at the wrong hour. Lord Elrond is relying on me to keep Imladris safe and I have no time to spare,' spoke Glorfindel after a moment. 'I can offer you this. Ambrethil, my son, is a promising soldier and has plenty of spare time on his hands when he is not on patrol. He also has prior experience in teaching.'

Sophie cocked her head in surprise. 'Ambrethil is your son?'

'In all but blood. He came into my care as an elfling when he was orphaned,' explained Glorfindel. 'So, would this arrangement suit you?'

'Of course! It was better than what I dared hope for.'

'It strikes me that any refusal on my part would only sent you back here every morning to spy on our practice anyway,' replied Glorfindel with a sigh.


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Elrond's hand resting on Sophie's shoulder was the sole reason Sophie had not run for the door so far. Sophie was painfully aware that every elf in the kitchen was looking at her. She turned her head a little so that she could catch a glimpse of Elrond's face. He did not appear to share Sophie's misgivings, if anything, judging by his half-smile, he found the scene quite amusing. Personally, Sophie did not find it especially funny to see that between columns of steam and racks of herbs hanging down, stood no less than twenty elves and stared at her as if they had never seen a human in their lives. Nevertheless, somehow Elrond's reaction made Sophie breathe a little easier.

'Istuireth, are you here?' spoke Elrond in Sindarin.

At that moment, the door behind them swung open and a flustered elf stepped inside. She swept past Sophie and Elrond, then barked out something in Sindarin. Her words were too quick for Sophie to understand, but the elves dropped their gazes and rushed back to their work, as if fearful that any delay will see them punished.

'Master Elrond, is this the mortal?' said the newcomer when she turned around to face Sophie and Elrond.

Sophie found herself a bystander to the negotiations between the two elves. They spoke too fast to Sophie to catch much more than her name. The woman was especially difficult to understand – her words flowed one into another almost like in a chant. Eventually, Elrond fell silent and the woman called for another elf to come over.

'Sophie,' said Elrond in Westron, perhaps aware that she had given up on listening to him earlier. 'This is Istuireth, she is the head cook and everyone here works under her supervision. She has agreed to let you work here.'

'Thank you, ' muttered Sophie.

'And this is Tarangil,' continued Elrond, nodding towards the elf that had come over to them. 'She will be your translator until your Sindarin improves.'

Although Sophie struggled to distinguish elves by age, she thought that Tarangil looked younger than Istuireth. Tarangil certainly seemed more approachable, her hazel eyes glittered as she smiled at Sophie, while Istuireth's pinched look made her appear as if she was trying to evaluate the damage Sophie will inflict on her domain.

'Why doesn't she work with me today?' said Tarangil in Westron and then translated into Sindarin for Istuireth's benefit.

'A fine idea. I shall leave you to it then. The best of luck, Sophie,' replied Elrond.

Sophie missed the warmth of his hand on her shoulder the moment Elrond walked out the door, the sheer number of elves peering at her in this small space unnerved her. Despite Tarangil's warm smile, she was certain that she would make a fool of herself within the next five minutes.

'What brings you to this part of the homely house?' asked Tarangil.

'I think I will be staying in Rivendell for a while and it is not right for me to live here without doing any work in return. I hope I will be useful here. What would you like me to do?'

Tarangil handed Sophie a knife and motioned towards several pallets of apples. 'We have to peel them first. It is apple pie for dessert tonight.'

Sophie bit her lip, trying to estimate how long it would take her to finish the apples. Several days most likely. To her relief, Tarangil pulled up a stool near Sophie and began peeling the fruit as well. Her hands were nimble, yet the strokes precise. Sophie watched Tarangil's progress with increasing jealousy, particularly once her own hands soon began to cramp.

'Have you been working in the kitchens a long time?' asked Sophie as she shook out her hand.

Tarangil cocked her head thoughtfully. 'Longer than the entire span of a mortal life no doubt, but I cannot remember exactly.'

'Why did you learn Westron? Surely you don't need it to work here.'

Tarangil shrugged. 'I wanted to learn. You wish you learn Sindarin, do you not?'

'I have to learn if I want to understand what is happening around me. It looks like I will be staying here for some time.'

'Where do you come from? You did not say before.'

Cold dread washed over Sophie. Elladan had mentioned a place to Ambrethil when Sophie had first met him, but it was a long elvish word that she had forgotten the moment Elladan had said it. She could not make up another place of course; someone could notice the discrepancy later on.

'Are you feeling well?' asked Tarangil.

'I am fine. Sorry. No... It's just that I don't quite remember,' muttered Sophie. She dropped her head so that Tarangil would not see her red cheeks. 'Elladan and Elrohir found me somewhere south of here. I must have had a head injury, because I do not remember anything before Rivendell. Lord Elrond has allowed me to stay here until my memory recovers.'

'Lord Elrond is a good man,' replied Tarangil and after a momentary pause, she went on. 'If this is so, we must aid your education. These, apples, are_ cerdyf_ in Sindarin. Can you remember that?'

'_Cerdyf_. Apples, got it. And the singular?'

'_Cordof_.'

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir's soft conversation drifted through the room while Elrond shifted in his seat. Another minute longer and he would have to start the meeting without Glorfindel. Everyone else was present. Erestor, the only non-military member of the council, was engrossed in a thick tome in front of him. Beside him sat Angacarch, a veteran of the War of the Last Alliance and Glorfindel's second-in-command. He tapped his fingers on the surface of the large mahogany table, his eyes fixed on Elladan and Elrohir seated opposite him.

Without warning, the door swung open with enough force to make the walls reverberate. Glorfindel walked in already making hurried apologies about his lateness. Although Elrond had seen Glorfindel dressed in his military gear on hundreds of occasions, he could not avoid being moved at the sight. It was no wonder the Nazgul feared Glorfindel's coming. Glorfindel offered Elrond only a curt nod and sat down on the opposite side of the table.

'Now that the Lord Commander is here, we can proceed. Elladan will act as our scribe today,' said Elrond. 'I believe the orc numbers in the North was the most pressing issue in our last meeting. Have scouts returned with any further tidings?

'Yes, and few of them had anything positive to say. One thing is plain - the number of orcs in the North is growing. Although the winter months will temper this disease, soon they will reach such numbers that it will be impossible to travel safely even with a host of guards,' said Elladan, not masking the hatred he had cultivated for orcs over the past centuries. 'We must ride out before the infestation becomes too severe to deal with.'

'It would be better to wait for the spring,' replied Glorfindel.

'Yes, this promises to be a bitter winter and many will starve without our interference,' added Erestor.

Ellladan was about to speak once more, but Angacarch spoke up and cut Elladan off. 'I fear the North is not where the danger lies. We have relied too long on the Bruinen to defend us. Fell creatures have a distaste for running water, that is true, but if the winter is as harsh as we predict, the Bruinen will ice over and any beast will be able to cross at will. We are ill prepared for such a calamity.'

'What do you suggest, captain?' asked Elrohir.

'We have to increase patrols on the Western border.'

Elrond looked over at Glorfindel, who had pursed his lips as he considered Angacarch's proposal. Although Elrond had once been the herald of the High King of the Noldor, he had always been a scholar before he was a soldier, while Glorfindel was a warrior at his heart. Glorfindel's perspective on military matters was the more valuable than the opinion of anyone else on the council.

'Patrols will be little use to defend the river. What can a patrol do against an army of orcs intending to cross the river? The distance between the Bruinen and the valley is such that by the time we hear from the patrol, if they manage to get the message out, all our scouts will be in Eldamar,' said Glorfindel.

'We need a permanent outpost,' spoke Elrohir.

'We have one, we have had one since the time of Gil-galad. It is only that in the good times we became bold enough to forgo the stronghold,' said Elrond and embarrassed muttering swept through the room. He felt much the same; he scarcely remembered the reason for which Imladris had abandoned the fort. 'The flow of the river has shifted and the fort's position is no longer ideal, but we have no time to construct a new fortification, thus this structure will have to suit.'

'And if the enemy believes it abandoned, we can employ this to our advantage,' said Elrohir. 'How many elves can the fort hold? I gather repairs will have to be made also.'

Elrond frowned. Gil-galad had advised Elrond to commission the fort some four thousand years ago in mortal reckoning. Fortifications constructed by human hands would be at the bottom of the riverbed after all these centuries, but architects from Eregion had constructed this particular fort and they were considered skilful builders even among elves; there should be few major repairs required.

'But is it necessary? The Bruinen is a fair way from here and even if orcs should breach the river, they will take months to find the valley itself. I believethe better course of action is to form a tighter, but a more secure ring of patrol,' said Glorfindel.

'If we were a military base I would agree, but Imladris is a refuge and a place of learning also. If we have no access to the river, how will we communicate with people beyond our borders?' asked Elrond.

Glorfindel grimaced and shook his head. 'Yes, we elves must always have a passage to the sea, must we not? What happens when we have nowhere further to run, Master Elrond? Other than over the side of the cliff of course. No, sooner or later we will be discovered and we will have to face the beasts upon us. There is no sense in sending fine men out to die for some unnecessary scrap of forest.'

'Surely _you_ would know the value of an escape route,' snapped Elrond. If Glorfindel wanted to employ underhanded tactics, Elrond was well prepared to match him, regardless of the sharp intakes of breath from other elves in the room.

'Preferably one with a sharp drop on one side! This is hardly the same situation,' said Glorfindel with another shake of his head. 'Those who wish to avoid the war have had plenty of time to leave; in fact, they may leave even now. Cirdan never denies passage to the West.'

'And what if the war draws long? We are a long way from Mordor and who can tell how long the South will keep Mordor at bay' asked Elrohir. 'There is no sense in cutting our bridges too early.'

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Few who had the knowledge to judge believed Gondor and its allies had the capacity to keep Mordor at bay for long, whether the Ring was in Sauron's possession or not. Mirkwood and Lothlorien would survive longer than the mannish kingdoms perhaps, but they would be no aid to Imladris. Of course, no one in the council had the heart to voice this opinion.

'Well, what is it to be?' asked Erestor at last.

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel. The grim expression on Glorfindel's face made Elrond certain that should he make a decision contrary to Glorfindel's opinion he would find himself in another argument. A pity, as they had just reconciled after their heated debates over the selection of the Fellowship to accompany Frodo on his quest.

'We will vote on this,' said Elrond. 'Who is in favour of a permanent contingent at the old Bruinen fort?'

Elrond was the first to raise his hand and Elrohir, Erestor and Angacarch followed his lead. Glorfindel was the only one to vote against as Elladan abstained from the decision altogether. Elrond was well aware that his son dreamed of armies that were large enough to ride past the borders of their homelands and confront their enemies directly instead of engaging in complex games of ambush and espionage. Elladan wanted a direct assault on the orcs in the hills, but he was young and had little skill in manipulating the council to his own desires.

'Then it is settled, we will refurbish the fort. I believe we are done for the day,' said Elrond as he began gathering the papers before him. 'My lord Glorfindel, can I leave this matter to you?'

'Of course, I cannot refuse the will of the council, can I?' replied Glorfindel with a trace of hurt evident in his voice. 'Since the fort will be used permanently, I believe it will be best if a commander is assigned to it also. Captain Angacarch ought to be appropriate for the position.'

* * *

Ambrethil was silent as he moved around the clearing; his every step measured and precise. Sophie tried to match his movements, even if her footwork looked more like a shuffle. Footwork was secondary in any case. The most important thing was to keep the right distance, not to expose yourself to an easy attack. At the same time, Sophie watched for a mistake from Ambrethil - a moment when he would step too far or retreat too little and fall within her reach. Sophie grasped her sword tighter and tried not to notice the pounding of her heart.

'Attack now?' she muttered to herself. 'No. Not yet.'

Without warning, Ambethil stepped into attacking distance and swung his sword downward towards Sophie's head. Sophie's feet were caught in the wrong position and she awkwardly stumbled backwards. Her parry was a thoughtless swing towards Ambrethil's blade. She was actually surprised to meet Ambrethil's blade. She finished with a half-hearted riposte.

Ambrethil moved out of Sophie's reach. He took off his mask and pushed stray strands of hair out of his face. Now that Sophie had spent a little time in Rivendell, she came to realise that Ambrethil's hair was shorter than most other elves'. It was barely long enough to be tied back and the shorter strands in the front inevitably found their way into his eyes.

Sophie used the time Ambrethil spent fiddling with his hair to catch her breath. She lifted her mask for a moment and asked:

'Why do you not grow out your hair?'

'I am attempting to do so. It is a slow and frustrating process.'

'Why is it so short in the first place? Did some orc creep into your tent in the middle of the night and shave it off?' she pressed. The longer she could keep him talking, the longer her break would be.

Ambrethil laughed. 'That is close enough to the truth. Come, be ready.'

He put on his helmet and Sophie raised her sword. She was rather disappointed that her ploy had not worked; she would have liked a longer break. It was a challenge to keep her sword in the right position. Her shoulder throbbed and threatened to spasm.

Sophie's new sword was taking some time to get used to. It was shorter than a foil, but had a wider blade. Sophie thought of it as something between a stereotypical medieval sword and a rapier. As the sword was heavier than the foils she had been accustomed to and the weight was distributed differently along the length of the weapon, Sophie was still not fully comfortable with it.

They resumed moving as before and Sophie fixed her eyes on Ambrethil. She just had to wait for the right moment. When Sophie attempted to follow Ambrethil's step to the left, however, her foot caught a small stone on the ground and Sophie lost her footing. A moment later she found herself staring at the dried mud on Ambrethil's shoes.

He helped her back onto her feet. 'What can we learn from this?'

'I need to watch my feet?'

'That, too. The more important point here is that you must desist from perpetually searching for the attack. You place too much emphasis on finding the proper moment. When the time is right, you will see it. In the meanwhile, your defensive skills will keep you among the living.'

'I understand.'

'Good,' said Ambrethil. 'We ought to finish for the day. You are tired.'

'Ok. Thank-you,' said Sophie. She was about to offer her hand for a handshake as she was accustomed to, but remembered in the last moment to bow instead.

OnceAmbrethil dismissed her, Sophie collapsed on a wooden bench on the edge of the clearing. It was a good thing that Ambrethil had halted the lesson when he did, because Sophie did not think she could have managed much more. Everything hurt. Everything – her legs, her back, her shoulders, hell, even her fingers. Sophie stared at her sword hand. The fingers and the palm looked like a minefield of reddened calluses and weeping blisters. There was also a yellowing bruise adorning the knuckle of her index finger from the previous lesson, when Sophie had parried at the wrong angle and received a solid whack for her trouble.

Ambrethil sat down next to her and winced when he saw her hand.

'You must make an effort to keep that clean otherwise the blisters will become infected. We often use a paste to reduce the pain and to speed up the healing, I will have some sent to you,' he said.

'Thank you, that is very kind of you.'

Ambrethil nodded and began stripping off the thick, padded clothing he wore when teaching. After all the padding came off, he looked much slimmer, although his sweat stained shirt made it clear that beneath the clothing there was little save toned muscle. His was more handsome than any of her previous coaches, that was certain. Ambrethil's eyes alone were something special. They were a strange shade of grey, very dark and at the same time glistening as if with an inner light. Sophie was sure she had never seen a human with eyes like that.

'I have a question for you, Ambrethil. If I wanted to do what you do, go on patrols and all of that, how many years of training would I need?' asked Sophie.

'Six, maybe seven,' replied Ambrethil. He frowned at Sophie's disappointed face. 'That should not dishearten you. Your training is doing well, but mastery takes time.'

'Seven years is a long time for a human.'

'I suppose it is,' shrugged Ambrethil. 'Does the thought discourage you? There is no obligation to continue, if you would rather turn your attention to other pursuits.'

Sophie frowned. Although she had threatened to quit fencing often enough, she had never followed through with her threat and no one had ever seriously asked her whether she wanted to give up. She ran over her calloused and blistered palm with her similarly abused fingers. It was a tempting suggestion.

'Would you be angry with me for having wasted your time, Ambrethil?' asked Sophie.

'No, certainly not. I too profit from this experience as I come to realise what makes a successful teacher and what does not. Teaching is a skill I need to learn,' he replied. 'Well, what shall it be? Do you wish to continue?'

Sophie shook her head. 'I don't know. The idea is almost frightening.'

'What is there to fear?'

'What will I do with my time if not this?' asked Sophie. She paused, it was difficult to explain what she meant and the lies Ambrethil believed about her were a stifling hindrance. 'I might not remember much about my past, but I know that this is not the first time I have found myself in a strange place. We have moved from one country to another before. Instinctively, I think I know what to do. Stay calm, learn the local language, make friends and so on.'

'A sensible strategy in my opinion,' replied Ambrethil. 'Yet I cannot see how this relates to our lessons.'

'Yes, I am not making much sense, am I?' Sophie blushed. 'The problem is, no matter my previous experience s, this is something completely new. Everything is foreign here, too foreign for me. Even the writing for example. I have had to relearn that. It's all too much really.'

'In contrast, the sword is something that seems a familiar, yes?'

'Not exactly, but more familiar than most things', said Sophie slowly. 'How can I give that up?'


End file.
